


on guard

by elifish



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Developing Relationship, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Swords & Fencing, but eventual resolution into everyone is in love with everyone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 11:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elifish/pseuds/elifish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a high school AU in which everyone fences (with swords)<br/>starring dean and cas as the hottie and cinderella, sam as the younger brother, gabriel as the younger brother's boyfriend, and jo as the brofriend, with special guest appearance of lucifer as the jackass who fucks it all up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on guard

**Author's Note:**

> look im in love with this AU but im just not good enough as a writer to make it happen so im leaving it up but i highly doubt it will be updated

Dean sets himself carefully on the blue on guard line painted onto the wooden yellow strip. He adjusts the tip of his foil so that the curve is just so and slides his mask over his sweaty face.  
The referee- a pretty saberist called Jo- calls the on guard and Dean sets himself, his feet about shoulder width apart and forming an “L” shape, knees bent.  
“Ready?” Jo says, and Dean gives a quick wave with his left hand, focusing carefully on his opponent.  
“Fence!”  
His opponent rushes forward, and Dean allows it, retreating at the same pace as the dark haired foilist in knickers with the name NOVAK printed in blue down the outside right thigh. Dean pauses for a second, allowing Novak to lunge, but parries quickly, knocking the side of the boy’s blade just out of line with Dean’s target area, and then disengages, dropping his blade down into a slight “v” and ending on the other side of his opponent’s blade, when Novak goes to counter-parry. Dean lunges and quickly earns the touch, and Jo calls it.  
“First attack fails, parry, riposte lands, bout. Five to four,” she says, hands flying as she forms the signals that go along with the call. She grew up fencing, her mother the head coach at the club and a veteran fencer who placed at the World Championships. She could handle a blade by the age of seven.  
Dean’s opponent salutes with his blade, then takes off his mask and runs his ungloved hand through his black hair. He’s kind of handsome, in a crow-like way, Dean notes. He walks to the center to meet the boy and shake after he had saluted as well.  
“Thanks for the bout,” the kid says, offering his hand. Dean takes it, and smiles.  
“My pleasure. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name the first time around?”  
“I am Castiel. I just transferred to Springfield High School from a school in Michigan,” the boy- Castiel- says. His voice is surprisingly low and gravelly.  
“Well, Cas, you have some pretty fine bladework to get the jump on me like that,” Dean grins. The boy’s face crinkles in slight confusion at the nickname, but ducks his head and thanks Dean before disconnecting the cord that hooks him up to the electric rig and walking back to his bag and putting away all of his stuff. The door closes behind him as he exits- in the cool fall weather, Dean isn’t sure how the kid is comfortable walking outside in just his knickers, socks, and a damp blue t-shirt.  
Dean turns off the rig and puts his stuff away, too- glancing somewhat longingly at the sabers in his bag- and slips into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He waves to Jo, who’s waiting for Ellen to finish up and take them home, as he shoulders his bag and leaves.  
“See ya, Jo!” he calls as he closes the door behind him, smiling at her shout of “Later, Dean!”  
He jingles the keys in his hand as he walks to the Impala, thinking about how Cas had nearly beat him and smiling.  
Dean starts the car and hums quietly as he pulls out of the lot and onto the street. Tapping his thumb on the steering wheel, Dean drives through the dark, neon-lit roads until he reaches their brick apartment building. He parks, steps outside (old work boots hit the pavement rather than the hundred dollar Leon Paul Hi-Tech II’s he saved for for months, those are stashed safely inside his mask in his bag) carries his long fencing bag inside, stopping to wait for the elevator and then huffing impatiently as the old contraption slowly shimmies down the track and creaks open before beginning its treacherous route up to the twelfth floor apartment Dean shares with his brother and sometimes their father.  
Dean reaches the crappy wooden apartment door with the brass number 1231 nailed crookedly onto it and pulls his keys out of his pockets. He inserts the correct one into the lock and jiggles it around a bit until he hears the lock spring.  
The apartment is small and lit with a flickering yellow light, the door leading straight into the small living room where a brown couch and a coffee table sit, covered in stray coffee mugs left behind by their father and car magazines left by Dean. A counter separates the living room and kitchen, where Sam is situated at the table with his laptop and a bowl of ramen. He’s webcamming with Gabriel, his boyfriend (a foilist like Sam), like he does pretty much every other night: they’re constantly chatting on that damn laptop. Sam’s homework lies finished and neatly stacked beside his computer.  
“Hey, Sammy,” Dean calls, and Sam looks up from the computer.  
“Dean, how many times do I have to tell you not-”  
“To call you Sammy. I know, I know.” Sam rolls his eyes and points to the fridge.  
“New kid at Ellen’s- epeeist,” he mutters as he rummages in the fridge for something to eat. Grabbing a leftover takeout box, he plops down at the table and eats the cold burger and fries quickly. Sam watches him with some distaste.  
“Dude, slow down. You’re practically inhaling that thing.”  
“Ah, whatever. Need my brain food, ain’t that right, Sammy?”  
“Don’t call me Sammy- and I would hardly call that brain food.”  
“Tell it to your boyfriend. I’m going to bed.”  
“Night,” Sam says, smiling at his computer screen, where Gabriel is unwrapping a candy wrapper and waiting for Dean to finish so he can tell his story.  
“Night, boys. Don’t stay up too late. Keep the sex sounds down this time.”  
Sam splutters and Dean smirks as he closes the door to his bedroom.  
\---  
It’s seven thirty eight and Dean hasn’t finished his English homework.  
He stares at his paper. The paper stares at him.  
Shit.  
He looks up for something to do- he guesses the damn worksheet will have to wait till lunch or something when he’s more awake- and sees Castiel, the new kid from Ellen’s, talking quietly to the teacher. Dean watches with interest as they speak, the teacher (a large black man called Mr. Uriel) speaking sternly to the younger boy in that slow lilt of his. It’s pretty soporific, Dean’s come to experience- Uriel’s history lectures are basically considered naptime for a large portion of the student body, Dean himself included.  
Uriel points to the empty seat by Dean and Cas looks over. Caught, Dean gives a smile and a wave (laughing softly at Castiel’s excited grin) and goes back to his English homework until Castiel walks up to the empty seat and plops his stuff on the floor beside it.  
“Hello, Dean.”  
“Sup, Cas? You were really good last night. Enough to get the jump on me, at least. How long have you been fencing?”  
“I started about four years ago, in my old town. What about yourself?” the black haired boy inquires. Again, Dean is surprised by the timbre of Cas’s voice.  
“I’ve been fencing since I was six, and my brother Sam and I decided that the best way to fight off monsters was to stab them. Our dad called our swordplay awful and signed us up for sword boot camp. We all started with foil, but I eventually switched. Saber.”  
“I see. But you fenced me last night, and obviously I am no saberist,” Cas says.  
“Yeah, I help Ellen out on the group class days. I fenced epee for about two years, so I know the ropes pretty okay,” Dean replies.  
“Does the school have a program?”  
“Yeah, we’ve got practice tonight. You should come.”  
Cas smiles softly and nods. “I will consider it.”  
It’s established that they share history and lunch, and Cas says he’s looking forward to the classes, and then the bell rings, and Dean heads off to math. He passes the class in boredom, thinking about Lisa Braeden’s underpants and whether or not she’d hook up with him during lunch, and certainly not about math. He meets Cas in the hallway, giving him a quick smile and a nod- and is it his imagination, or does Cas blush?  
Later, Dean sees Cas wandering around trying to find the right place to go for practice as he’s walking out of the locker rooms and shows him where to go. They reach the cafeteria they use as a gym (with duct tape strips) just before Ellen starts.  
They do warm up, then stretches, and then they line up for footwork, one fencer on each strip.  
“Now, I want you to pair up for distance drills. You know how it goes- keep the same amount of difference between each person. Mirror them. Sam, work on your compensation for fencing short people, like Ash,” here a grumble of complaint from Ash, “and everyone remember to keep your knees bent. We are not competing in height.  
“I want Ash and Sam to pair up, Jo and Anna, Rich and Adam, and Dean and Castiel.”  
Castiel looks at Dean and Dean smiles.  
“Must be my lucky day, huh?”  
“Yes, the chance to work with an epeeist as incompetent as I am- you must be honored.”  
“Oh, I am, Cas, I am,” Dean says.  
“Get to work, lovebirds!” Ellen shouts.


End file.
